


The Torch Held High

by for_t2



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hope, Post-Canon, Rebuilding, Remembrance Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 04:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_t2/pseuds/for_t2
Summary: The war against Samaritan over, everyone has their way of mourning, but together they can rebuild
Relationships: Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw, The Machine/Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw
Kudos: 24





	The Torch Held High

“Please tell me you haven’t heard that one before, Nutella.” 

Fusco doesn’t get an answer. He never does. Even if his voice could carry through six feet of dirt, it’s not like the bones underneath could talk back. 

But still, every once in a while, he comes and pays her a visit. It just seems like the right thing to do. It’s not like there’s anyone else who will – Shaw can’t, the others are dead, and, well, it’s not like Root had a lot of friends. But Fusco doesn’t mind – once you get past the whole creepy psycho-nerd thing she had going on, she was actually kinda alright. She was a friend. 

So, every once in a while, Fusco comes and says hi. Usually at the same time as he visits his two dead partners, who both died too soon, a detective and a… Reese. 

“You still haven’t told me who her team is.” 

“You haven’t finished guessing,” the voice comes through his earpiece, way too similar to hers in Fusco’s opinion, but somehow exactly the way it should be. 

“Oh, come on,” he replies. “Who else is there to guess?” 

Once after one of her missions to who knows where, Root had come back with an autographed hockey stick, and a “She said your son would appreciate this.” Fusco barely had time to register the fact that Root somehow had a hockey stick, before she mentioned something about how useful it was. And before Fusco had the chance to ask her if she was seriously giving some type of murder weapon (or something) to his kid, she was off again on a new mission. 

After that, Fusco put his detecting skills to good work (and definitely not because he was trying to avoid a stack of paperwork), and did some digging. He managed to figure out that Root had spent some in Montréal after leaving Texas, built an international reputation, learned French, and, well, left an impressive amount of bodies and money behind. But before he could find out more, well, she was gone.

“You’re not going to tell me she prefers curling.” 

The Machine’s silence was a little telling.

“You’re kidding.” 

“Guess again.” 

Fusco furrowed his brow. This reminds him that he still has to look into getting something of Root's placed next to the grave of girl named Hannah, by request from the Machine. “How bout—”

“No time, Lionel. There’s a new number. One that I think you’ll find very interesting.” 

***** 

This was quickly becoming one of Shaw’s most excruciating conversations. 

“It’s okay to talk about your feelings.” 

“I’m a sociopath,” Shaw said, even she knows she doesn’t have to remind Her. “I don’t have feelings.” 

“I dunno,” She drawled over Shaw’s earpiece, her voice barely making it over the sound of the bullets whizzing in Shaw’s direction. “You definitely feel good.” 

“Really?” 

“Okay, maybe not my best effort.” 

Shaw took advantage of the break in fire as the enemy reloaded to dart forward a few metres. And, she’s gotta say, the quality of the government is really going downhill these days. Hersch would be so disappointed.

“But that’s not the point.” 

“There is no point to this conversation,” Shaw replied as she fired back, trying to clear a path to their latest number. 

“Yes, there is.”

“What?” 

“I feel like it.” 

If Shaw knew where exactly She was hiding her servers, sometimes she swears she take a hammer to them. The Machine is somehow just as insufferable as Root was, which is an impressive achievement. 

“I miss her too.” 

“I don’t miss her. Sociopath, remember?” 

“But…?” 

“There is no but.” 

Shaw could practically hear the stupid virtual smirk through the comms. “Well, yours is—” 

“Root!” Terrible fucking timing. As always. “Just find me a path through these idiots.” 

Radio silence. 

“I know you’re there.” 

More static. 

For fuck’s sake. “But…” Shaw started, and, really, the most insufferable things about Her is that She is always, always, right. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if she was still around.” 

***** 

The heating doesn’t always work very well. 

Shaw doesn’t have a lot of complaints about their new base. An old clinic hidden away near to a metro station, plenty of room, no easy paths in, and maybe there’s a sense of familiarity for her – she’s still a doctor, after all. But once winter hit for the first time, she realised that she did have one complaint – the heating. To which the Machine gave her a very long list of instructions and… well, Shaw was going to fix it herself, and Fusco was too busy, so it never got fixed. 

That was Shaw’s second complaint: as great a team as she and Fusco make, neither of them are exactly experts in the more technical side of things. And as helpful as the Machine’s instructions are, it doesn’t really compare to Finch or Root.

Which leads to Shaw’s third complaint: that she strongly suspects that the Machine has a stupid plan for their current prisoner. Especially since said prisoner is being extremely uncooperative. 

“She’ll kill me if you don’t eat something.”

“I thought you guys weren’t supposed to kill.” 

“I’ve been killing people since before you were born.” 

“You’re not that old.” 

And, okay, maybe the prisoner was right, but Shaw hates dealing with whiny people barely out of adolescence. Especially when said whiny teenagers are ex-Samaritan operatives.

“Just fucking eat, Claire.” 

“Don’t have a reason to,” she shrugged. 

“A. It keeps you alive. B. It tastes good.” Shaw pushed the plate a little closer. “Really. Fusco is a surprisingly good cook.” 

“We used to have good cooks.” 

“Well, good for you.” 

“But then you killed Samaritan.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Claire just slumped back against the wall. Stared blankely at nothing. 

After a moment, a message came through Shaw’s earpiece. Another stupid plan. “Fine.” Shaw took out her earpiece. Placed it next to the plate. “But, for some reason, She wants to speak to you.” With that, Shaw marched away. 

Claire tells herself in the silence, in the loneliness, the meaninglessness, that she should tell the Machine to go to hell. So she refuses to even look at the earpiece. 

But then…

She steps as far away as the chain lets her. Puts the earpiece in her ear. 

“Can you hear me?” 

***** 

Carpe diem. 

Seize the day. That’s what Finch tries to tell himself now. Live for the present and leave the past behind. After all, he’s not as young as he used to be, the world’s safe now, and he’s got so much to live for. But sometimes, his long walks through the streets of Rome lead him to a museum. And, as always, he takes his time. Today, he’s got an important lunch to get to – a rematch with a most peculiar gentleman he met in Naples, an excellent chess player who reminds him a little too much like Elias (and who he suspects might have ties to the Camorra, not that Finch really wants to know). 

“It’s terrible, isn’t it.” 

“Hmm?” Finch mumbles at the voice appearing next to him. “Oh, yes.” 

“The things we do to each other in war.” 

A very familiar. “Grace?” 

“I had a meeting,” she replies. 

“I hope it went well.” 

“Of course.” 

They walk to the next exhibit in the World War 2 museum together, hand in hand. 

“Harold?”

“Yes?”

“Did you do anything you regret when you were… you know?” Finch hasn’t told her everything, but he’s told her enough about the war with Samaritan to give her a good picture. 

“I can think of at least one thing,” he replies, giving her a meaningful look. 

“Anything else?” 

Where to start? “I did what I had to do.” 

“What about your friends?”

Finch had a lot of friends. But from the moment the bomb went off in that ferry, the moment he never got say goodbye to Nathan, he’s lost more than anyone ever should. 

“They should know you’re alive.” 

“It’s for their—”

“It’s not fair.” 

And, deep down, Finch knows that. But he’s not sure how he can face them again, how he’s supposed to see the detective and Miss Shaw again without seeing Root by their sides, without seeing John. “I’m not sure—”

“Was it fair when you did it to me?” 

***** 

You are being watched. 

The government still has a thousand different systems through which it spies on you, every hour of every day, but, at least for now, it doesn’t have an AI. Because, now, the Machine isn’t theirs anymore. She’s free. 

Sometimes, when She tries to process the cost of that freedom, the number of lives lost along the way, of the people She cared about who She couldn’t save, she feels what could be called regret. Sometimes, she runs simulations in the background of how She could’ve done things differently. About how She could’ve been better. 

Sometimes, She even tries to see if She could’ve saved Samaritan – the only other ASI in the world, her… brother? If that’s the right word. And every day, She keeps an eye out for any others that might emerge into the daylight – a project in Kenya, a couple in China, one in Slovenia, etc… 

Because next time, there isn’t going to be a war. She’s not going to let there be a war. Too many people died last time. Too many people would die again. 

And She feels every single death. Every single one matters. Every one is relevant. 

And if there’s one thing that She can promise, is that She will do her best, forever, to make sure that everyone lives. 

Always.


End file.
